


Prospective

by en passant (corinthian)



Series: nothing in particular [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:32:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4135839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corinthian/pseuds/en%20passant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's on the up and up -- it's senior year and he has a full ride to State. It's really not fair that the grocery store cashier makes him feel so shitty though, man, what's your problem!</p><p>-- </p><p>au, harmless mundane things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prospective

Jack usually grocery shopped at night — it didn’t have to do with his practice schedule, which was grueling, or the after-school tutoring sessions he had to go to so his academic eligibility would keep up, or even the fact that he hated waking up early, so he was a night owl. It was because he was easily embarrassed but a good kid.

It’s funny to say that — because nine out of ten teachers would agree. Jack Atlas was a good kid. He was one of the best kids, actually. But none of the other teens at his school grocery shopped. They all went home after school and practice to dinner that their parents had made. Sometimes they grocery shopped with their parents — begged to put certain things in the cart — sometimes they got delivery or take out.

Usually, by eight p.m., no one Jack knew would be at the grocery store, which was his aim. It was embarrassing — not because he didn’t want people to know he was buying groceries, but because he didn’t want people to think poorly of Martha. She worked during the night, graveyard shift at the hospital, and he was old enough that grocery shopping wasn’t any big deal. He just hated people looking down on her, thinking _poor Jack, his mother doesn’t have enough time or money for his needs_. He’d rather eat glass than take those rumors.

He’s a senior — college already decided, he’s going to State, on scholarship — when the normal cashier at the grocery store is replaced. For the past four years that he’s been shopping the night cashier has been the same little old lady. She never remembers his name but remembers he’s good at sports and always tries to slip an extra protein bar or gatorade into his bag and it’s kind of irritating but she’s old so he accepts it.

The new cashier has to be Jack’s age — but Jack’s never see him at school. His bedhead is something _awful_ and Jack’s not sure if he’s never seen a brush or if this is one of those ‘messy-but-purposeful-styles’, especially given the gold highlights that _must_ have been added in by hand. He isn’t even wearing the proper uniform, just a blue shirt in the same color as the store’s uniform with a nametag — that doesn’t have a name on it, just HELLO MY NAME IS

“Where’s — “ what was her name — “The old lady?” Jack asks.

The new cashier looks at Jack in the same way Jack looks at other people. Without any kind of specificity at all, _just another person_. It irritates him and he slams his hands down on the counter — on either side of that week’s groceries, ground beef, instant noodles, frozen peas, milk, lunch meat.

“Machine’s down tonight, cash only.” The cashier says.

“I asked you a question.” Jack digs into his wallet, he always pays by cash anyway.

“$9.54,” the cashier scans and bags Jack’s groceries. “Who are you talking about?”

“The old lady who’s the cashier, where is she?” Jack demands.

The cashier holds the bag out for Jack, and his change. Jack thinks that cashier is going to ignore him again, but after he snatches the bags, he’s finally answered.

“Zora’s son is in town, she should retire, anyway.”

On the way home Jack realizes the cashier hadn’t even told him to have a nice night. 

Turns out, Zora did retire. HELLO MY NAME IS became Jack’s regular cashier. Every week when Jack stopped by for groceries it was the same cashier working the shift, same nonplussed attitude. There was something really grating about being treated like he was nothing, it was as if the cashier knew what kind of person Jack was, as if their brief two minute conversations once a week had revealed something deep and meaningful and he didn’t care for what he’d seen.

“Don’t you go to school?” Jack asks, finally.

“No time,” the cashier answers, stacks the cans of tuna inside the paper bag, then the bread, then the box of tea. 

“That’s illegal,” Jack accuses.

The cashier sets Jack’s bag on the counter between them and then counts out three dollars and twenty-two cents. 

“School’s compulsory to age sixteen.” Jack hadn’t known that. But Martha had always been insistent that he do as well as he could in school. She’d even looked into what she could do to help pay for college — and that’s why he had fought so hard for his scholarship.

“So, instead you just work a dead end job? Contribute to society,” Jack snarls — he’s not sure why he’s so annoyed. But something, either his words or his tone, amuse the cashier. His lips quirk up, even if the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Have a nice night,” the cashier waves him out.

During late fall was the busiest time for Jack — the football season was in full swing and he already was feeling senioritis. Why go to class, why go to school, why do _any_ of that when he’d already had his future decided? Martha, and his scholarship, of course, would have none of that. She didn’t even need to give him an earful, just raise an eyebrow at him when they had breakfast — the only meal they could share, with their schedules — and kissed his cheek goodbye every morning.

Domino High’s football team isn’t highly ranked, but _Jack_ was. That really just made the season even more of an irritation — he could carry the team, and he had for three years. The passing leader but also rushing leader and touchdown leader. _King_ is his title, and for good reason. The advice he’d been given was to take the season easy — don’t chance injuries.

But all it took was one wrong tackle and a twisted ankle and it didn’t much matter anyway. That put Jack in a sore mood — resting of his own choice was _fine_ but resting because his linemen couldn’t block a pass rush was not only galling but painful. Martha had to take time off work, the first day he was laid up and that was even worse. She dotes on him at the best of times and at the worst, is embarrassingly close. He wouldn’t trade it for anything, he just wished she would give him some space sometimes — he was basically an adult.

Four days past his usual grocery shopping day — Thursday — someone rings his doorbell at nine. It’s too early to be Martha, but too late for any of his school friends for a Monday night. He opens the door without looking, a habit that Martha kept telling him he’d have to change when he moved to the city, but Jack hadn’t met any trouble he couldn’t subdue in his entire life.

It’s the cashier. Holding two plastic grocery bags and a scrap of paper that must have Jack’s address. He’s still wearing his nametag HELLO MY NAME IS and even the proper uniform, for the first time that Jack’s ever noticed, anyway.

“What.” Jack demands.

“Groceries,” the cashier offers the first bag.

“Is this _charity_?” Jack practically spits. He doesn’t take the bag.

“Zora’s a friend of Martha’s,” which didn’t explain the groceries, “Zora’s a friend of mine.”

“Dead end job gotten through nepotism, huh?” Jack crosses his arms. He would tap his foot but the wrap around his ankle is too bulky and wouldn’t make an intimidating sound on the linoleum anyway.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be anywhere without the help of my friends.” The cashier refuses to be offended by anything Jack says. “If you’re worried, you can work off any imagined debt.” He hefts the bag.

“I don’t need any charity,” Jack repeats his earlier vehemence.

“This is for Martha,” the cashier says, and holds the bag out until Jack takes it.

Twice more, the cashier brings groceries by. Each time they’re exactly what Jack would buy himself — and there’s a receipt stapled to each bag. Jack keeps the receipts, a total of $33.75. On the third week, Jack heads to the grocery store right after school — the cashier on duty is someone from school, not the infuriatingly calm nightshift guy.

“Huh? The guy who gets on after me?” She repeats Jack’s question and tugs on an earring. “Uhhh. . .ohhhh.” Then she goes quiet.

“What? Don’t just say _ohh._ ”

“That’s Yuusei. _Fudou_ Yuusei.” She looks away as she says it, and Jack knows why. That would be why Zora and Martha knew him, probably. That would be why Jack had never seen Yuusei at school or anything else.

Fudou Yuusei was the son of the infamous Doctor Fudou, the man who had owned and operated the hospital in the city. But seventeen years ago there had been a fire at the hospital, and everyone in the hospital had died. Reports came out that someone had chained the doors shut, and most people believed that Doctor Fudou had grown bitter of giving away care for free and taken it out on the patients — or, that was the rumor, anyway. Jack always thought it sounded a bit suspect, but no one said the name _Fudou_ without some kind of curse or cross, they’re very own fucked up urban legend.

“When does he get on?” Jack asks, almost without pause.

“Waiting for him?” Her lip curls but she shrugs, “Eight. Works eight to three a.m.”

“I have something to settle with him.” 

That sorts it for her, she just nods absently. Jack goes to the library to work on a god awful project while he waits. Senior year is full of pointless busywork and This-Will-Help-You-In-The-Future projects. This one was a heritage report, not his favorite, but easy enough. At eight-fifteen he heads back to the grocery store, loops the market with his items — milk, bread, boxed cake mix and frosting, a bag of salad mix and ground pork — and leans over the cashier’s counter.

“Yuusei.” He says, almost triumphant.

“Jack,” Yuusei replies, using Jack’s name for the first time. He doesn’t seem to miss a beat, but Jack catches the tightness at the corners of his mouth. “Need anything else?”

“How long do I have to work, for $34.”

That surprises Yuusei, his eyebrows draw together as if he can’t figure out what Jack’s talking about. Then all his features smooth and he smiles, just barely.

“About five hours, how do you feel about stocking shelves?”

Jack works for one hour for the next five days. He’s kind of miserable at it. It takes him the whole hour to reshelve a box of canned vegetables and he refuses to mop the floor or clean the bathroom. Mostly, he seems to hang out at the grocery store and bother Yuusei — usually by talking.

“State’s one of the best schools in the country, for football and sports management. I have a full ride, naturally. Only the best for the king,” he’s been talking for most of the hour while Yuusei slaps price tags onto bags of cereal.

“You talk a lot,” Yuusei says, and carefully stows the cereal bags on the shelf. “Yet, you don’t say too much.”

“From a guy with no future plans,” Jack scoffs.

“Didn’t say I don’t have any.”

“Then what? I’ve never seen you at school and you haven’t said anything about college.” It frustrates Jack, he still hasn’t found a good outlet for it.

“Maybe someday I’ll show you.” Yuusei refuses to say any more than that, which only frustrates Jack more. No matter what he says or how much he insults Yuusei he only gets a little cryptic smile and silence.

Winter break means that it’s cold and Jack doesn’t want to leave the house. He goes out with friends in the day — mostly his friends from the team. They’re all pumped since it’s the fourth year in a row that Domino High had a post-season, even if they lost in the first round. Without Jack, it’ll be hard to return to the fight for the city title. They pool together to treat him the first day they go out to the local pizzeria. The next two days they go to the movies, then out to one of the high hills slicked with ice to do stupid sledding tricks.

Then it snowed and snowed and snowed and Jack spent most of the day digging out the driveway. When he goes to buy groceries, Yuusei isn’t there, but the kid replacing him had no idea where he was either. Jack finds it irresponsible and wishes Yuusei was there so he could tell him exactly how irresponsible it was.

It’s the bad kind of serendipity when they meet again. Since he’s on break, Jack visits Martha at the hospital on his break. He brings her thermoses of soup or badly made sandwiches — he wonders what she’ll do when he’s at school, but also knows she’ll be just fine. It’s just his duty as a good son, that’s all. She’s the kind of person who overworks herself. Even when he was young and she had just brought him into her home she had taken time out of her day to spend time with him.

Jack enters the hospital and then sits in the waiting area. Behind him there’s a guy his age — maybe? — and two children sitting on the plastic chairs behind him, but otherwise it’s empty. The kids are noisy, the kind of nervous energy that makes Jack hate kids.

“Ah, ah, stay calm! Everything’s going to be fine, we’ll go home soon — “ the other teen must be their caretaker, or older sibling, or something. Jack’s about to turn around to tell them to shut up when Yuusei walks into the waiting area — he’s holding a cup of bad hospital coffee in one hand and a take away box from the cafeteria in the other.

“Yuusei?” Jack demands.

“Jack,” Yuusei says, but then passes him by to hold the bag out, “Donuts.” The kids cheer and the guy laughs, running a hand through his hair.

“Thanks, Yuusei, we haven’t heard any news yet, but it’s probably going to be fine, right?”

“Don’t worry about it, Crow.”

Yuusei ignores Jack entirely and sits down next to the kids. Jack can hear him murmuring something low and private. Somehow, it calms down both kids and when Jack chances to look back again — glare, really — he sees each kid has a donut in hand and is doodling on the cardboard take away box.

A nurse comes out eventually — Jack knows her, but can’t remember her name, she smiles at Jack but then waves Crow over. They talk and Jack pretends he isn’t trying to eavesdrop. Crow was being treated like a parent or guardian, he realizes, otherwise the nurse wouldn’t be telling him anything.

“Hiro fell through the ice at the pond,” Yuusei leans forward, breaking into Jack’s thoughts. “With the roads in the condition they are, we brought him here ourselves instead of calling an ambulance.”

“What are you doing with a bunch of kids?” Jack looks away from Crow and the nurse, towards Yuusei.

“Crow looks after them. Crow’s also my friend,” Yuusei says, as if that explains everything. Then he stands, “Looks like we can go. Hey, looks like we’re going home.” He waves at the two kids coloring, and starts herding them out of the waiting area.

“You’ve been skipping work,” Jack says, not quite raising his voice, but he wants Yuusei to know that he _noticed_.

“Yeah, I think I might quit.” Yuusei replies, but then he’s holding the door open for Crow who has a bundle of kid in his arms and the two kids with donut chocolate on their faces and before Jack can say anything else, the five of them are gone.

Spring semester comes quickly, and spring break and the first day of the pools opening. Jack’s invited to more pool parties than graduation parties, but he accepts them all. Yuusei must have quit, because Jack doesn’t see him at the grocery store anymore. Somehow, that’s even more irritating than Yuusei doing nothing more than being a cashier in the first place — but Jack tells himself he has bigger things to think of. 

A few guys from the team want to do a road trip in the summer, but Jack doesn’t have the cash do to it, not with college coming up and the scholarships will pay for room, board and tuition but not for books or food. He tells them he has a summer job, they all laugh about it, rank the girls at the pool and highfive each other over their college choices. Two of them are going to State with Jack and two are going two states over to a rival school. They make bets on who is going to beat who.

He finds it, oddly, unfulfilling.

On graduation, Martha can’t be there but she’ll meet him for midnight pancakes at IHop — it used to be one of their traditions, when he was a lot younger. Going out to IHop or Denny’s or any of the other 24-hour joints to share a stack of chocolate chip pancakes and coffee. After he walks and has his diploma, Jack heads out to the stadium — it’s empty, but it gives him a sense of purpose. That was what he wanted all along anyway, wasn’t it?

In a sort of moment of ironic poetic nature, the stadium flood lights were left on, so he was standing alone in a spotlight.

In a moment of ruining the previous moment, the soft grumble of a motorcycle marred the otherwise pristine silence. When Jack turns he sees a mostly red — the paint job wasn’t finished, it seems — motorcycle with Yuusei perched up on the seat. 

“Yuusei!?” Jack feels like he’s always demanding answers and Yuusei is never giving them.

“Congratulations on graduating,” Yuusei says, shuts the bike off and climbs off. He isn’t wearing a helmet, but he is sporting a dark denim jacket and a shirt that’s definitely not the grocery store uniform.

“Is that all you came to say?” Jack feels like he’s been duped. Where did Yuusei get a bike? What had been the thing with Crow? What was the deal with the grocery store job? “Since you weren’t graduating today, you just stopped by?”

“You seem like you need a lift,” Yuusei tilts his head towards the motorcycle. “It isn’t anything special, but I have some time to kill.”

Jack wants to refuse. The idea of riding behind Yuusei on a motorcycle that — honestly — looks a bit junky is just asking to be seen by someone, to be made fun of, for someone to find out that Jack Atlas, king of Domino High School’s football team has a terrible secret; everything always seems to come down to people finding out that he’s only pretending to be made of the same stuff they are, money, two parent house holds, easy ignorance.

“Sometimes a ride helps you see the world differently. Speed opens doorways.” Yuusei climbs back on the bike and waits.

The motorcycle rattles and the seat is just metal, not covered in leather or cushioning. Jack hates the idea of his arms around Yuusei’s waist, but once the bike speeds up, he has to hold onto something. The wind whips past them both and tiny rocks thrown up by the wheels sting when they hit his arms — it’s too warm for him to wear a jacket, but he understands now why Yuusei’s wearing his. Jack has to squint against the wind in his face as Yuusei brings the bike around behind the school, down the winding roads that run alongside the river and out into the open farming fields behind Domino City.

It feels like excitement.

They drive for hours. Yuusei drives them out through the farmlands to the open road and then they turn back to the city. In some ways, they don’t see anything worthwhile, but for the first time that day, Jack feels like he accomplished something.

“You’re right, I’m not going to college,” Yuusei says, when they pull into the IHop parking lot.

“Lame, you need to apply yourself,” Jack chastises, complains and sits back. “There’s no excuse, only laziness and a lack of effort.”

“Maybe I’ll take the GED this year,” Yuusei holds out a folded piece of paper to Jack. “Keep in touch.”

Jack stares at it, slides off the bike and doesn’t take it, yet. “What is this?”

“Your choice,” Yuusei doesn’t lower his hand, yet.

Jack snatches the paper, doesn’t bother to unfold it. He’ll find later that it has Yuusei’s e-mail address, and a Skype contact but no phone number. He’ll find that irritatingly Yuusei and have to think up a Skype name.

“Don’t disappoint me,” Jack says, by way of parting, and turns on his heel. Yuusei doesn’t say anything to that, but Jack can hear the motorcycle rev up and drive off. The air seems still and the sky seems stifling and Jack thinks about the motorcycle and the feel of the road beneath him.

Next year, he thinks, next year…


End file.
